The Magnificent Seven
by zoe.grant.927
Summary: The Magnificent Seven Sherlock style with Sherlolly and hints of John x Mary, because I fucking suck at summaries. Read and review!:)


**1879, the town of Rose Creek**

 **Sunday the 5th of August**

Angry shouts and protesting filled the overcrowded chapel Molly sat in with her husband, Tom. The rows were filled with almost everyone in town, spare the ones with shops to run, and a few pews ahead of her she spotted Mary Morstan, the only unmarried woman in town and an acquaintance of hers. It was hot and dry, and the air filled with dust particles catching the sunlight coming in through the windows of the small church. Everyone was speaking all at once in a heated passion that made the room tense as they shouted over each other and argued.

'What about our families?' one man said.

'He's gonna try and take this land!' another protested, followed by another who stood from his seat, his clothes dirty and patched like most people's in the room, his face weatherbeaten and tired. 'He's says the water's poisoned!'

'Damn lies,' an older, darker-skinned man said.

'It is a lie,' the man who had stood agreed.

His confidate followed, 'Otherwise why's he got his guys keeping us away?'

'He's just a man, Turner,' a copper-haired man by the name of Philips sitting at the front of the room muttered, making Turner scoff in turn as others stood from their pews.

'A man with an army, Philips!'

The priest at the head of room tried in vain to be the voice of reason, 'Calm down, calm down!', but nobody paid attention to him and he put his head in his hands as they continued arguing.

'He's a man with a claim to mining mountain,' one man chimed in.

'And his riders are camping on the edge of our town!' Turner added, clearly angry like the rest of the room. He stood and faced the front of the room, shaking his fist, 'He is seizing our land, with _dozens_ of hired guns on his payroll!'

'We know that, Turner,' an older man who stood beside the priest said tiredly.

Turner faced the crowd. 'Who the hell is gonna stand up to a man like that?'

'We will,' The room turned quiet as a clear voice cut through the throng, not loud and commanding like that of someone a man should have reason to fear, but a friend. A voice of a neighbour that they knew, and trusted. Molly looked up in quiet shock to see her Tom had risen from his seat. 'Darling-' she protested, but he simply squeezed her hand and faced the room with a determined expression. Before he could speak, the men already had begun to protest.

'How?'

'With what?'

'We ain't got hired guns and we can't fight a man like him!' one said, looking at Tom stoically.

Tom continued calmly. 'There are laws on our side.'

'Moriarty is the law, Tom,' Philips protested. 'Bought and paid for. Even got our sheriff on his payroll!'

'That's why I say we fight,' a bearded man a few pews down said bitterly.

'I say we fight too,'

'Me too, we need to fight,'

'I ain't fighting,' the man across from Tom said, and for a moment his face turned tired and sad. 'And I ain't leaving, neither.'

'Well what are you gonna do, Philips?' Turner spat.

Philips clutched his hat and stared at the floor. 'The Lord will provide.' Turner and a few others scoffed and shook their heads, but the priest nodded.

'That is right, brother Philips,' he said, his thick Irish accent clear across the room. 'The Lord surely will provide.'

'But Moriarty is not a man of God, he is a businessman,' an older man said as he stood. 'If you just reason with him he'll give you a fair share.'

The men in the room groaned.

'Fair share, sure…' Turner muttered.

'You're the only one making money here, Gavin,' Philips protested. 'With you and your _whores_!'

'That is not fair!' Gavin snapped, 'You were there the other night!'

'That's a lie!' one man snapped, and the room erupted into yelling. Tom looked down at Molly, silent as the fighting filled the room.

'Now everyone _stop_!' the suited man stood next to the priest cut in loudly. 'Forget your bickering and focus on the bigger problem. Our farms our dying. It's only a matter of time before he drives all of us out.'

'For the sake of our children,' one small, skinny man in a worn suit stood and faced the room, wiping sweat from his brow. 'I say we leave Rose Creek.'

'And go where?' Turner muttered.

'Where we gonna go?' another said desperately.

'Look,' Tom said, and slowly, the room turned to him. He felt small, and afraid, but he had to speak to these men. 'I know you're scared.' He looked at Molly, her hand still entwined in his, and she gave him a small, comforting smile. 'We all are. But we came far to get here, suffered losses too painful to bear to make this our home. But we did it. All of us, together. This valley is ours.' The chapel fell silent for what seemed like forever, until;

'I agree,' the man next to the priest called out. 'I'm with Tom.' Slowly but surely, the rest of the men nodded.

'Me too, I'm with Tom,'

'Me as well-'

Suddenly, the chapel doors flung open and a cry of fear came from one of the women. Tom's grip tightened on Molly's hand as five or six armed men walked in, wearing wide brimmed hats and heavy, dark suits. Philips put an arm round his wife and the children in the room huddled to their parents. The entire chapel turned to stare in fear as the group descended open them, heavy footsteps making the old floorboards creak and moan. And at the head of the group - James Moriarty. He was a tall, pale man with calculating eyes like that of a snake, thick black hair slicked back against his head, an angled jaw and a thin, pursed mouth with was forever set in a half smirk, half grimace that made it impossible to tell what he was thinking or who he would devour next. He wore an expensive grey pinstripe suit with an obsidian tie and a gold pocket-watch and chain, leather shoes and carried a cane with a gold handle that swept upwards in a sharp, almost blade-like shape. He had a presence that immediately sent the room into a dumbstruck, fearful silence, as he stood, silently, as if waiting to strike.

The priest held out a hand, visibly shaking. 'This is the Lord's house,' he said as commanding as he could manage, 'no place for guns. There are women and children.' Two of Moriarty's men stepped forward quietly and stood on either side of the chapel, blocking anyone's passage out. The men who had been standing reluctantly sat down, their eyes fixed on the floor. A baby wailed in the background as Moriarty held up something in his hand. A jar, filled with dirt. He began to walk towards the head of the chapel, shaking it, as if to put them all on edge with the hollow sound. He looked to the priest and the man beside him as he reached the podium. They quickly stepped aside.

He stood, scanning the crowd, knowing he had them under his thumb. Terrified and obedient. He tapped the jar of dirt with one finger, drumming out a hollow thrum against the glass.

'This,' he said, 'is what you love. What you die for. And what your children and your children's children will work on, suffer for, be _consumed_ by.' He shook his head, cold eyes narrowing into slits. He pointed to the front of crowd. 'You, boy. Look at me.' Molly peered over the crowd and realised in horror it was little Archie, just under ten years old. Tom stiffened and shifted in his seat.

Moriarty nodded at the boy. 'Come here. Come on, now.' The room holding its breath, Archie shuffled out of his seat between his parents and made his way to the Moriarty. He was barely a few inches about four feet tall, his thick curly brown hair a mess on top of his head. He look ant sized compared to Moriarty, who seemed to loom like a great shadow above everyone and everything. He turned to Archie. 'Now I came here for gold,' he said slowly. 'Gold. This country's long acquainted democracy with capitalism. Capitalism with _God_ ,' he raised his voice and stared across the crowd, as if _daring_ them to speak back. 'So you are standing not only in the way of progress and capital; you are standing in the way of God!' He shook his fist as his voice became louder and his tone darker and more dangerous. 'And for what? Hm?' He looked at Archie. 'Do you want to help me out, boy?' He took the jar of dirt and unscrewed the lid. 'Let's find out. Put your hand in there for me.'

Molly's breath hitched in her throat. She squeezed Tom's hand as tight as she could. Archie's father seemed to shake in his seat. The young boy, his face so fearful and innocent, pursed his lips before putting out his hand. Moriarty blinked. 'Hm?' Molly saw with horror that Archie's eyes were brimming with tears as that man - no, he wasn't even a man, he was a _demon_ , teased and taunted a poor child in front of his own parents and all the while knowing he could get away with it.

Archie's hand hovered over the jar. Moriarty nodded. 'Go on.' He reached into the jar, when suddenly, Morirarty trapped his wrist a vice like grip. Archie's parents went pale. A woman whimpered and cradled her baby close and Moriarty held the boy's wrist like a master holding an insolent dog by the scruff of the neck. He turned to the room. 'Land,' he said. 'This is no longer land, the moment I put a pin on the map, the day I descended into this godforsaken valley and cast my gaze upon it, it ceased to be land, and became…' He stopped and turned to the shaking Archie; released his grip upon his wrist. 'Pull your hand out.' Archie obliged, and pieces of dirt fell from his fingers to the floor. Moriarty held the jar up to the crowd. ' _Dust_.'

He turned to Archie, 'Go on, sit back down,' and the shaking boy scrambled back into his parents' arms.

Moriarty faced the room. 'This is your God,' and he poured the contents of the jar onto the floor. 'Twenty dollars for each parcel of dust; that is my offer,' he put the jar back on the podium and straightened his suit, becoming curt and cold - the businessman persona he had perfected. Immediately the crowd erupted into protest, but he simply raised his chin and straightened up, distant and unregarding. 'It won't sweeten. It'll only sour.'

A gunshot sounded right behind Molly, and the crowd screamed in fright. She clung to Tom's arm as the room shook with fear, a baby's cries ringing and panicked murmurs filling the chapel. Another two gunshots were fired into the ceiling; Tom stood from his seat and suddenly the doors flung open to reveal more of Moriarty's men storming into the chapel. The crowd began to rush for the doors as gunfire filled the air and in a matter of seconds she was swept with the crowd outside, the air filled with frightened cries and terror, and all she could do was keep a hold on Tom's arm and shut her eyes, praying it would end soon. The smell of smoke and the crackle of flames reached her and she forced herself to look, seeing in horror the church was being set alight. People tried to run, but Moriarty's men had formed a perimeter and pushed back anyone trying to get through, one of whom a young mother clutching her baby to her chest who was shoved to the ground. Instinctively, Molly broke away from Tom and went to help the woman to her feet as the noise of gunfire rang in her ears. She made her way back to Tom, who clutched her in his arms protectively as men and women were herded out of the church, poked and prodded by shotguns and the filthy, meaty hands of Moriarty's men. One old man tried to break free and run, and in an instant there was a sharp gunshot and he had been pierced in the shoulder by a bullet, and fell to the ground in pain. Molly swallowed a scream and held tight to Tom, forcing herself to look away. They were surrounded. All they could do was watch as men were kicked to the ground, held petrified by a gun's barrel.

'Listen up!' Moriarty adressed them. 'You each have three weeks to give up your land. I want every one of your property deeds signed and on my desk and I guarantee you you will collect your twenty dollars! If you do not hand over your land willingly…'

Before she could blink, he raised his gun, aimed, and with a _bang!_ Turner was on the ground, blood leaking from his head, his eyes still open. His wife, the woman with the baby she had tried to help, let out a terrible sob and threw herself over his body, her baby crying in fear.

Tom shifted beside her, his expression turning from his usual kind smile to an anger she had never seen in him.

'I have to do something,' he said determinedly, stepping forward. Molly clung to his sleeve; what was he thinking?! 'Tom, don't!' But he ran ahead, shoving Moriarty's men away from Philips, whom they'd kicked to the ground. 'Get away from him!' They trained their guns on him as he helped Philips up, silent. 'What'd you say, boy?' one of them growled, pulling back the hammer on his gun.

'Now, now,' Moriarty called out curtly. 'No need for violence.' He strode down the from steps of chapel til he was mere inches away from Tom's face, his eyes boring into him like a hot ray of sun. 'I think Thomas here is smart enough to know when to step away.' His eyes flicked over to Molly, and she shivered at the way he looked at her. He turned back to Tom, met him eye to eye, and spoke in just above a whisper. 'It ain't wise to start a fight you know you're going to lose.' Tom faltered and lowered his gaze to the ground. Moriarty smirked. 'That's what I thought.' He nodded to his men, and strode forward through the crowd.

'What kind of a man are you?'

Molly's eyes flickered over to her husband, and she felt a pang of fear - cold and sick. She knew Tom - he was kind and always, always stood up for what was right - but he couldn't face off against James Moriarty. He murdered and he stole and they were just farmers on a little town in the valley. She felt as if she had swallowed a stone as Moriarty stopped and slowly turned on his heel to face him. She looked at her husband, begging him to stop, but it was useless. He was angry and tired and ready to fight, like all the people losing their homes and lives because of one man, and the words poured out of him like wildfire, consuming him till his voice became strained and desparate. 'What did these people ever do to you? What are you here for? For land? LAND?!'

It happened so fast. A loud noise, a blinding flash and all of sudden, Molly saw her husband on the ground with a bullet in him, bleeding out right in front of her. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Philips ran to Tom's body, but before he had reached two feet - _bang!_ \- he fell into the dirt, and his wife and children screamed. Archie's mother wailed in horror and began to run; 'Isabel, no!' his father screamed, and an axe whipped through the air and hit her square in the back. Archie could do nothing but bury his face in his father's coat as he picked up his son and ran for cover. Bullets flew through the air, taking out men and women as they tried to either fight or run, and in a matter of seconds, bodies had littered the ground, and there was nothing but silence.

Molly ran to Tom, skidding in the dirt as she fell next to him, frantically searching for signs of life. 'Tom, tom, wake up, come on…' She cradled his head in her hands as tears rolled freely down her face, sobs shaking her. 'Wake up… _please_ , wake up!' _No, no, no…! This couldn't be happening; he couldn't be gone…_ Sobs wracked her body as her mind desperately tried to come up with an explanation, a solution, something. But there was none. Her husband was dead, and James Moriarty had pulled the trigger.


End file.
